


cats don’t only purr when they’re happy

by narada-talis (sarensen)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Galra Keith (Voltron), Hurt/Comfort, Keith (Voltron) Whump, M/M, Post-Season/Series 07, Purring, hospital fic, kosmo helps, shiro taking care of keith
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-03
Updated: 2018-11-03
Packaged: 2019-08-16 23:50:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16505111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarensen/pseuds/narada-talis
Summary: He eventually pulls away to touch Keith’s cheeks, his hair, his arms. Keith is smiling at him, a little tiredly, a little fondly. “Hello to you, too.”Shiro slumps forward to rest his forehead against Keith’s. “I thought I’d lost you…”“I’m right here,” Keith’s arms tighten around him fractionally.“I swear I’ll never let you go again.”He senses Keith’s smile. “… but what if I need to use the bathroom?”It’s good that Keith feels better enough to joke, but Shiro just can’t find a smile for him right now. His hands curl in his shirt, bunching the coarse hospital fabric. “You don’t understand. I saw your body in Black’s cockpit and my— my whole world ended…”“Shiro. It’s okay.” Keith pushes him away, his stare made no less intense than usual by the bandages around his head. “I’m here.”Something breaks in Shiro. He crushes Keith to him, kissing every part of his face, ignoring Keith’s surprised chuckle. “I love you, Keith. I love yousomuch. You know that, right?”





	cats don’t only purr when they’re happy

Shiro’s always had a strong sense of duty, but it kills him to leave Keith’s bedside. He gets up on the podium and addresses a thousand people about loss, about hope, and about fighting to save everything they love. But part of him never leaves the hospital room, where everything  _he_  loves waits, too still and too pale.

He’s just started his speech when he feels his datapad vibrate. It sits like a hot coal, heavy in his pocket with the weight of his curiosity. The applause hasn’t even faded before he gives in to the temptation to look, and he has other things that need doing right now but for once - just this once - responsibility can wait.

It’s from the hospital. The rest of the message blurs, fades out with the rest of the world except for three words:

“…he’s waking up…”

Shiro runs.

——

Keith’s hair is so warm.

Later, Shiro will barely remember anything else from the salvage, but Keith’s hair is warm from the desert sun, warm against Shiro’s collarbone and cheek. It leaves him with ice in the pit of his stomach.

Keith isn’t moving.

Black plummeted to the ground and Shiro knows she tried to protect him, he  _knows_  she did, but it wasn’t enough. The impact hurled him across the cockpit and splintered his helmet into pieces, and now in Shiro’s arms his body is like a doll, limp and heavy and still.

A medivac is waiting past the rubble. Shiro can hear the wail of sirens and the groan of shifting rubble where Black razed an entire Garrison barracks, but his world is narrowed down to the way Keith’s chest isn’t moving and the way blood is pooling in the seam of the prosthetic’s wrist.

He runs.

——

Carefully, carefully, slowly, he guides the Atlas’ big hand down, pinching the Black Lion’s scruff gently between its thumb and forefinger. He arranges her quiet body, delicate as a new flower, on one huge palm. The others are already waiting.

Slow, gentle strides carry them to the parade field, where the other Lions (dark, cold) sit arranged behind the stage.

Shiro can feel the Atlas in his mind, curious in a gentle kind of way. It doesn’t understand why the paladins can’t move the Lions themselves.

Shiro sets Black down carefully, carefully, and pushes her upright, folds each limb into place like the origami his grandmother taught him as a child.

The others have all come back, but not Keith. Not yet.

 _Please_. He doesn’t know who to ask, or if anyone will answer.  _I can’t lose him._

In the back of his head, the Atlas hums mournfully, distressed at this pain it doesn’t know how to comfort.

——

Shiro skids to a halt in the door, chest heaving. Inside is a heart monitor and too many drips and medical equipment and the cursed bed Shiro hasn’t left for one single moment, until he  _had_  to leave for one single moment, and it was the wrong one.

He stops in something close to shock, flooded with relief because Keith is sitting upright and his eyes are open and he’s smiling that unexpectedly sweet smile of his. Shiro’s entire field of vision is filled with Keith. His entire head is filled with a mantra of “ _he’s okay, he’s alive._ ”

The next thing he knows he’s filled his arms with Keith and he’s kissing him, desperately, and the sweetest of all is that Keith is responding, he’s kissing back as best he can. Happiness and relief are wet on Shiro’s face.

He eventually pulls away to touch Keith’s cheeks, his hair, his arms. Keith is smiling at him, a little tiredly, a little fondly. “Hello to you, too.”

Shiro slumps forward to rest his forehead against Keith’s. “I thought I’d lost you…”

“I’m right here,” Keith’s arms tighten around him fractionally.

“I swear I’ll never let you go again.”

He senses Keith’s smile. “… but what if I need to use the bathroom?”

It’s good that Keith feels better enough to joke, but Shiro just can’t find a smile for him right now. His hands curl in his shirt, bunching the coarse hospital fabric. “You don’t understand. I saw your body in Black’s cockpit and my— my whole world ended…”

“Shiro. It’s okay.” Keith pushes him away, his stare made no less intense than usual by the bandages around his head. “I’m here.”

Something breaks in Shiro. He crushes Keith to him, kissing every part of his face, ignoring Keith’s surprised chuckle. “I love you, Keith. I love you  _so_  much. You know that, right?”

Behind them someone clears their throat. Both freeze in place, then slowly turn to come face to face with two of the most fearsome Galra to be produced by the war. Kolivan has his legs propped up on the small table, and Krolia is watching them with her arms crossed.

Shiro didn’t even see them when he came in.

He pulls away from Keith as though burned, scrambling to stand, and actually starts to salute Krolia before catching himself.

Krolia smiles at him indulgently. “At ease, Captain.”

“I-I’m sorry, Krolia. I was just relieved to, to see him finally awake.”

“I know. As were we. Just promise me you won’t break my son any more than he already is.”

“Of course, Ma'am.”

They spend the rest of the afternoon making small talk and relaxing in the beams of orange sun coming through the window, and Shiro hasn’t felt this happy in years.

——

It’s long past visiting hours and the hospital is dark when Shiro finishes his last meeting and sneaks in. He’s brought Kosmo with him, because animals aren’t allowed in the hospital, but he knows Keith will want to see him.

Now that Keith’s out of intensive care, live-in visitors aren’t allowed anymore, and Krolia and Kolivan have gone to the quarters prepared for them on the Atlas. Shiro had tried to do that too, but couldn’t sleep. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to sleep again without having Keith close by.

At least Keith seems to be getting some rest.

Kosmo is just tall enough to rest his chin on the side of the bed and nuzzle his hand.

Apart from the ugly gash in his head, Keith has a fractured pelvis, several broken ribs, and four torn ligaments down the side of one leg. Doctors say he’ll make a full recovery, eventually, but that’s more thanks to his Galra biology than Earth’s primitive healing technology. Even lying there asleep, Shiro can see how his body has changed slightly, shifting into shapes and colors more Galra than human: purple streaks in his hair, ears sloping to small points, eyes glowing Galra gold when he opens them. A defense mechanism. He’ll heal faster this way.

He hadn’t been hurt this bad after the Marmora trials, and he was in pretty bad shape back then. He’d refused the Altean healing pods on the Castle of Lions out of pride. Now, with the Castle gone, they don’t have that option.

Shiro stands next to the bed and just stares at Keith for a while. He’d bought him a tiny stuffed hippo with a ribbon around its neck and a card that says “Without you I’m a hippopota-mess!!”, because Keith told Lance he likes hippos once forever ago just to get him off his back about doing some questionnaire, and it became a bit of an inside joke between them.

But now that he sees Keith lying there, broken and looking smaller than he’s ever seen him, the gift feels stupid. Keith may have woken up earlier, but the road to recovery is still immeasurably long, and the stuffed animal seems out of place between the bruises and blood.

Shiro’s just turned to the door to go and throw it away when Kosmo lets out a soft, excited  _whuff_ from behind him.

“Hey, boy…” Keith’s voice is soft and rough with sleep and a happy if subdued kind of surprise.

Gift forgotten, Shiro slips into the chair next to the bed, clasping Keith’s forearm lightly.

“Hey… How are you?”

Keith winces lightly. “You know. Been better.” He sounds mournful when he adds, “It’s funny, though… All of my aches and pains, and the only thing I really want right now is to take a shower.”

The faint scrapes and gashes from the splintered helmet glass make the side of his face into a battlefield, purple and mottled and raw, but it’s the old burn scar underneath it all, the one from Shiro’s own hand, the one that permanently turns the very corner of his lips up ever so slightly, that finally breaks Shiro. It makes it sink in how young Keith still is, how much he’s been through, how many times his body has been broken only to have to stand up and fight again.

Shiro kisses him right there on the pulled up corner of his mouth, then immediately regrets it. He’s sure it must hurt.

He goes to pull away but Keith pulls him close and buries his face in his shoulder and… he doesn’t quite cry, but it’s close. Shiro knows he would never, never show anyone except him weakness like this. He’s always the one to put on a brave and stoic face for the others, but he doesn’t need to for Shiro. Never for him.

Shiro knows there isn’t anything he can say, so he just strokes Keith’s back carefully, carefully, so he doesn’t hurt him. That’s when he notices it. It’s soft, felt beneath his hand rather than heard — a very quiet rumble rising and falling with each of Keith’s breaths.

And that’s… what  _is_  that? Shiro presses his hand flat to Keith’s back discreetly. It’s definitely coming from him, from somewhere deep inside his chest.

He’s…  _purring_. Shiro blinks. Purring? That’s the only word he finds for it as his hand fists in the rough fabric of the hospital shirt and he hugs Keith even tighter. His chest fills with aching warmth because it’s so strange, but it’s so  _Keith_ , and he didn’t think it would be possible but it makes him love him even more.

It must be a Galra thing. Shiro makes a mental note to ask Krolia about it later.

To Keith, he croons softly, “You’re okay. I got you.”

He can feel Keith nod into his neck lightly but Shiro knows he isn’t ready to speak yet, so he just holds him for another while. Kosmo snuffles his head in between them, whining lightly at the lack of head rubs before taking matters into his own paws and jumping up on the bed. He lies down on Keith’s thighs decisively as if to say,  _I’m not moving again from this spot and if anyone tries to touch Keith again, they’ll be met by a mouth full of teeth_.

He’s a good boy.

Eventually, Keith pulls away, slightly stiff and slower than usual.

Shiro watches him, remembering how warm his hair was from the sun when he pulled him out of the wreckage. “I’ve never been so scared.”

Keith takes Shiro’s prosthetic hand in both of his, lacing their fingers together and rubbing his thumb lightly over the metal joints. “You saved me, Shiro.”

It doesn’t feel like enough. He doesn’t know how to tell Keith that, though. But he can show him.

He extracts his prosthetic from Keith’s hands and gently lifts him up out of the covers, careful not to jostle him more than necessary. Kosmo gives him a disgruntled look, as if to say,  _What did I just say?!_ , but allows Shiro to move Keith after a reconciliatory head rub.

“Whoa, Sh-shiro,” Keith says as he clutches onto Shiro’s neck, “Where are you—-?”

Shiro doesn’t answer, using the toe of his boot to push open the door to the small en-suite bathroom. Kosmo hops off the bed and follows them in, sitting down to watch. Shiro knows Keith won’t be able to sit upright, so he folds him into one arm gently and sits on the edge of the tub. “Let’s get you cleaned up a little.”

Red dusts Keith’s unmarked cheek. “You don’t have to…”

“I want to,” Shiro assures him. “There’s nothing else in the whole world I’d rather be doing.”

Keith falls quiet as Shiro tugs on the bandage around his head. It comes off, sticky with blood that still mottles his hair, and he drops it into the bin unceremoniously.

The basin is close enough to the tub to reach, and Shiro lets the water run until it’s mellow and warm. He dampens a washcloth and dabs at the blood until cakes of it dissolve, until the cloth is brown-red instead of white, then runs it under the water until the water runs clear, and repeats the process. It takes some time with just one hand, but Shiro has all night and nowhere else to be.

He moves down the side of his face softly, not daring to press too hard for fear of hurting him. Keith has his eyes closed under a small, pained frown, and he’s purring again in Shiro’s arms. Shiro doesn’t even think he knows he’s doing it. His chest twists, and he resists the urge to hug Keith to him. He’s peripherally aware that Kosmo has inched closer, watching Shiro work. He starts licking Keith’s hand softly after a while and Shiro smiles, scratching behind his ears before pushing his head gently away. “Thanks, buddy. I know you’re only trying to help, but I got this, okay?”

Kosmo tilts his head at him, but relents, resting his chin on Keith’s thigh instead.

When Keith’s face is only bruise and no blood, Shiro cleans the washcloth and runs it over his neck and down his arms. He spends ten minutes getting his shirt off - it’s slow going because Keith is no help and Shiro only has one hand and he’s so, so scared of hurting Keith again. But eventually he manages, and the shirt pools on the floor, and Shiro keeps his eyes on Keith’s face instead of his chest because he can’t bear to look at the green-purple mottle where his ribs have broken or the pale white dip of his stomach disappearing beneath the waistband of his pants.

He trails the washcloth carefully over the swell of Keith’s shoulders and under his arms, and dabs up the water trails on his stomach with a towel. He presses it between the slope of each finger and uses the corners in the delicate shells of his ears. Keith falls asleep again at some point, but he doesn’t stop purring, and the sound sinks into Shiro’s bones and makes a home there, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to forget it.

It takes him an hour to finish, and he wishes he could have done more; Keith’s hair is still matted with dried blood, but he doesn’t want to touch the wound over his temple for fear of opening the stitches.

When Keith is as clean as he’ll get, Shiro wraps him in the towel and carries him back to bed. There’s a spare set of hospital clothes in the bedside drawer, but they’re rough and look uncomfortable and Shiro can’t bear to put Keith in them, so he takes off his hoodie and wrestles Keith gently into it instead. He drowns in it a little, and the sight makes Shiro flood with warmth as he arranges Keith’s limbs on the bed.

He looks up when he feels someone watching him, only to see Keith smiling at him lightly. Shiro straightens, leaning over to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear. It’s gotten so long.

“Thank you,” Keith says softly. He lifts his hands up, tugging the sleeves of the hoodie over his fingers and pressing his face into them. Shiro’s heart skips a beat at the sight, leaping into his throat.

“It wasn’t all me,” he smiles, “Kosmo helped.”

Kosmo looks up at the sound of his name. There’s a bright flash of light, and he suddenly has the forgotten toy hippo in his mouth and is pushing it into Keith’s chest.

Keith chuckles, taking the toy and ruffling Kosmo’s ears. “What'cha got there, buddy? Is this…. is this for me?”

He looks up at Shiro, who is suddenly embarrassed. “It, ah, reminded me of you.”

Keith reads the card and deadpans, “A hippopota-mess, huh?”

Shiro chuckles. “Bad, right?”

Keith shakes his head, putting down the toy in favour of hugging Shiro again. “It’s perfect.”

——

“I’m afraid I’m not familiar with that word,” Krolia says, scrutinizing Shiro over her crossed arms.

Shiro, feeling more and more embarrassed, rubs the back of his neck with a little chuckle. “Well, Earth cats sometimes… make these tiny, kind of continuous vibrations deep in their chest…?”

“Aaaah,” Krolia says knowingly, followed by a Galran word Shiro doesn’t know and has no hope of pronouncing. “The frequency of the vibrations aligns with our bodies’ electromagnetic fields and aids in the healing process.”

“Wow. That’s kind of incredible.” It’s also extremely darn cute. Shiro wonders if Galra also purr when they’re feeling happy and content, like cats do. He decides to make it his mission to find out by trying to make Keith as happy as possible, in as many ways as possible.

He doesn’t realize he’d said all that out loud until Krolia lays a hand on his shoulder and tells him, “We do, Shiro. But perhaps just wait until he gets released from the hospital first. Please?”

Her laugh tinkles down the hall as she disappears, leaving Shiro alone with his blush.

**Author's Note:**

> I’m not sure where the headcanon of Galra being able to purr came from, but it doesn’t belong to me. I am gratefully borrowing it from its original creator m(_._)m
> 
> You can find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/comfort_hold) and [tumblr](https://narada-talis.tumblr.com/).
> 
> **Please look at[the amazing fanart for this fic](https://twitter.com/yess2391/status/1149040274401845249) made by Yess bc I haven't stopped screaming about it for 16 years!!!**


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